


you're my golden hour

by mozartspiano



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 18:05:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19431292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozartspiano/pseuds/mozartspiano
Summary: Kyle's condo is terrible. William helps him find a house.





	you're my golden hour

**Author's Note:**

> title from kacey musgraves.
> 
> s/o to saraphina for laughing at my jokes, the library at emmanuel college for housing me while i wrote this, and kyle dubas for throwing me a puck at toronto pride and then a second one when i dropped the first. u the realest.

**4 King St. W**

Kyle runs into William Nylander at a Starbucks on King.

"I thought that was you," William Nylander says, appearing at Kyle's elbow. He has a wide smile on his face, wire-framed glasses on his sunburnt nose and he's wearing an anorak that probably costs more than Kyle's phone. 

"You," Kyle says, brilliantly, and then: "Why are you here?" and then, because that's a bit rude: "It's great to see you, William. Hi."

"Hi," William says back, eyes all sparkly. "Escaping the downpour?"

Kyle, who is a grown ass adult who can handle bright eyed twenty-somethings, feels himself flush: "Yeah I thought I would walk back from my meeting. Poor choice."

Over the din of the Starbucks comes a "Venti Frappucino for Willy!"

"I won't keep you," Kyle says gesturing with his grande drip (one milk, one sugar), "I'll just-"

"I'm in no rush!" William says and his eyes are like so goddamn blue and his smile is so fucking earnest. "Grab a table and I'll come find you!"

There are no free tables but there are two seats next to each other on the big communal wooden table near the front windows. Kyle edges around backpacks and strollers and creepy old dudes to slide himself onto one of the seats and put his briefcase over the other. This, right here, is a representation of why Kyle normally goes to Tim Hortons. Fuck his extended family for giving him a Starbucks gift card for Christmas. 

"Whew," William says when he appears. He's got two straws in his drink which is towered high with whipped cream. "It's really coming down out there."

It is indeed coming down out there. It's been raining, mostly, since April. Kyle can't help but feel it's God's pathetically fallic way of saying fuck you to him, specifically. This is exemplified by the fact that William, of course, looks good with his hair and eyelashes wet.

"You're not in Sweden?" Kyle says and then: "I mean obviously. Obviously you're not in Sweden."

"Obviously," William says. He licks at his whipped cream and Kyle looks steadily at the rain. "I had some stuff to take care of, some birthday parties, you know. I'm a very busy person, Kyle."

"Sure."

"And they're changing the old water tank out of my apartment building," William says, "So I had to be there to sign some stuff or whatever."

"Oh," Kyle says. He takes a sip of his drink. "I'm moving."

William blinks at him. "Cool, where are you moving to?"

"Uhhh," Kyle says. That's a great question. "I don't know yet. I mean I haven't decided anything. Or had the time to look at other places. My place is just sort of small and fucking awful and I hate my building and I want a backyard because I was thinking about getting a dog? Maybe? I'm not sure."

"You should definitely get a dog," William says. "Like a dachshund."

"Huh," Kyle says. "Yeah maybe a dachshund."

"They're my favourite," William says, like that matters. Like Kyle would get a dog just because it was William Nylander's favourite kind. "You could name it Oscar."

"I…could, yeah," Kyle says.

"Do you have a real estate agent?" William asks. He sips from his drink using both straws while maintaining eye contact. It's a lot. 

"Not yet."

"Don't," he says. "They're crooks."

"You seem to know a lot about the Toronto real estate market," Kyle says. 

"I've lived in so many houses," William says. "We used to move like every six months when I was a child because my dad was playing in the NHL. I have been to a lot of open houses. I'm very good at spotting great locations and I have a real eye for new homes. I helped Auston get that sweet spot on Bay. I mean," he gestures with his hands, "you saw it."

"I didn't, no," Kyle says.

"You weren't at his housewarming party?" William asks. 

"Um," Kyle says, "Technically he's my employee. So that might have been weird, if I was there." 

"Oh right, yes, yes," William says, flapping his hand around like he isn't also technically Kyle's employee, "I would have remembered if you were there."

Kyle doesn't even know fucking what to do with that so he says, "Well, if you see any listings feel free to send them my way. I've got about two weeks of relative calm before the Draft, so-"

"Yeah, I can definitely help you find a place," William says, which what and no, "What are you doing now? Do you want to grab food and brainstorm what you're looking for?"

"I - pardon?" Kyle asks, helpfully. 

"There's a good taco place around here," William says and he's moving around like he's about to stand up. "We could go back to your place, if it's close. Is it close?"

"I- yes." Kyle says. "It is close but-"

"Awesome," William says. He stands up. Kyle finds himself standing up too. "We'll get tacos, get to your place - oooh, should we get a snack? Maybe some ice cream?"

William stops with his moving about, stares him dead in the eye and asks, "What are your feelings about cookie dough ice cream?"

"Positive," Kyle says, "But - you're busy. I don't want to take up your time."

"I'm never too busy to help someone find a new home," William says and they're the same height, right, roughly, but somehow he manages to flutter his eyelashes and look up at Kyle like the worst and best thing he's ever seen. "Besides, I have nowhere else to be. Zach invited me to a trivia night at this bar and I'll take any excuse not to go."

**81 Navy Wharf Court**

"Oh," William says as they enter Kyle's apartment. "Oh _Kyle_."

"I know," Kyle says. 

It's - his apartment is a mess. Like most Toronto condos it's ninety-eight percent windows and four percent closets and, in Kyle's specific case, one hundred and sixteen percent stuff.

"I've never seen this many books in my whole life," William says as he hangs his jacket up over Kyle's bedroom door. "Are you running a library? Is your condo a library?"

"I - inadvertently," Kyle says. "Here let me just-"

He moves some sweaters and close hangers off the couch. He sweeps some books off the coffee table. He sits and watches William wind his way around boxes and piles and delicately plop down next to him.

"Not a lot of storage, huh?" William asks. He's damp from the rain but his skin is still like golden and glowing as he looks around at Kyle's stacks of stuff.

"Nope," Kyle says, popping the p.

"I can see why you hate it," William says, eyes wide, and Kyle laughs. 

The tacos are fine, a little soggy now from the rain and the streetcar ride down Spadina. William demolishes his first in twelve seconds. 

"So," he says, starting on his second. "You're looking for a backyard."

"Yeah," Kyle says. He looks over at his kitchen which is connected to his living room which is connected to his dining room area. "And maybe more space."

"I don't want to be crass," William says, "But I feel like you make too much money to be living in this terrible place."

Kyle laughs, pauses, laughs again. When he looks over at William his eyes are all sparkly and happy. Kyle looks back at his tacos. 

"This was the first apartment I looked at when I moved here from the Sault," he says, eyes on his taco. There's a piece of pickled cabbage that's trying to escape and he snatches it into his mouth. "I meant to find a bigger place last summer but things got crazy and they didn't really stop."

William's mouth goes a little bit sideways. It's almost like he knows it's entirely his fault that Kyle has three (three!) grey hairs growing at his left temple. 

They turn back toward their tacos. William takes a sip of this mango passionfruit slushie he bought. He asked if Kyle wanted a sip while they were waiting for their food and Kyle couldn't say "Fuck no" fast enough.

"Okay," William says through a mouthful of slushie and pork and pineapple. He turns on the couch, goes cross-legged so he's facing Kyle. "You want a backyard, more storage, and a library. What else?"

"A driveway," Kyle says. He wipes his mouth with a napkin. "I hate underground parking. Oh - maybe a porch?"

"Oh my gosh I love porches," William says. "Our house in Washington had a porch and we had a seat swing and it was the best."

That does sound like the best but Kyle doesn't say that. Instead he says, "Neat," and keeps eating his taco. 

"Do you want to live around here?" William asks. Kyle glances over and William's looking out, towards Lake Ontario. It's storming, a great grey mass. "Like Liberty Village?"

"Not particularly," Kyle says. "I'd rather be somewhere a bit quieter."

"Hmmm," William says. He shoves the rest of his second taco into his mouth and reaches for his third. "And what's our budget?"

Kyle chews for awhile. "Let's not go crazy."

"What's crazy?"

Kyle catches William's gaze: "William."

"Okay, okay, okay," William says but he's laughing, a bit, that goofy one that made Kyle frown the first time he heard it. "What's your wifi? I can start looking now. I bet there's loads of open houses this weekend we can go to."

Kyle's not sure, exactly, what the steps he made to get here were. Four hours ago he was ordering an overpriced coffee from an underpaid college student and now William Nylander is talking about a "we" and bitching at him for keeping the wifi code that his internet provider set. 

"We'll find you a nice place," William says, later, when he's taken over the couch and Kyle's reading through the recycling pamphlet on his fridge to see where their styrofoam takeaway containers go. "Don't you worry about it."

**404 Brunswick Ave**

William texts him the address at 7:43am on Saturday morning. Kyle spends eighteen minutes debating with himself in front of his bathroom and then almost trips over a stack of files on his way to the coffee maker.

 _Okay,_ he texts back, _What time is the open house?_

William texts back in twelve seconds: _10:00!!!!_

It takes forty-three minutes to get to the house because there's a goddamn problem with the streetcar and they all have to get off and wait for the next one. Kyle should have taken his fucking car.

 _R u almost here?????_ William texts him when Kyle is winding through the leafy streets of the Annex, one eye on the Maps app. 

_Relax,_ he types and then deletes it to write _2 minutes away._

"God, finally," William says as Kyle comes up Brunswick. He's in shorts and Kyle like, can't right now, so he stares at William's face instead. It is equally bad. "Two families are in there already. If we all want to put an offer in, it might come to blows."

"I like the neighbourhood," Kyle says.

"Uh huh," William says. His hand wraps itself around Kyle's upper arm and he tugs them up the walkway, up the steps, and to the front door. Which is orange. The front door is orange.

"I love that," William says, "You hardly see people experimenting with front doors these days. It's very Scandinavian."

"I guess you would know," Kyle says and William beams at him. 

They pass through the fucking space age orange door and walk inside and - there's a lot of windows. Like a shitload of windows.

"Ooooh," William says, "A lot of natural light!"

"It's - yep," Kyle says.

The house is like if a greenhouse turned into a two storey house, kind of, all white walls and wood floors and a lot of glass. Like a worrying amount of glass, maybe. Kyle looks out the bay window and sees a toddler on a leash pulling his mother down the street. 

"It's so open," William says. His hand is still on Kyle's arm. He gestures with his other hand, says, "Minimalist, you know. Modern."

Kyle follows the flapping about of William's hand. There's a light fixture over a dining room table that's made up of several glowing orbs. It is objectively modern and more objectively hideous.

"The balls are…" Kyle hesitates because he promised himself he wasn't going to be an asshole today. "Interesting."

"Very _now_ ," William says, a worryingly lack of irony in his voice.

A woman comes over to them. She's wearing casual clothing perfectly tailored to her body and probably makes more money than the two of them combined. William shakes her hand and they walk in tandem, William oohing and aahing at opportune times. 

Kyle can't stop looking out the window. He feels - exposed. 

The master bedroom is worse, with it's white walls and inoffensive wall art. The woman who really, truly, looks like a Maude, says: "The master is really about bringing comfort and modernity together in a bold new way." 

"Hmm," William says, nodding, like he fucking understood any of that. 

"And now for the ensuite -" Maybe Maude brings them through and it's, what a surprise, more white and grey and glass, "-we wanted to tie in that same feeling of modernity while simultaneously calling back to rich ancient Greek architecture."

She looks at Kyle. William also looks at Kyle. Kyle, who is suddenly very glad he spends most of his life having people say dumb-ass shit to him while a camera is pointed at his face, nods and says: "Hmmm."

"Love the grey backsplash," William says. "It has a rich authenticity."

"The designer, Edmund, is a genius," Maybe Maude says. "Do you want to see the rooftop patio?" 

"Oooooh," William says.

"Would you mind if we just took a minute to chat?" Kyle asks, putting his hand on William's shoulder. 

Maybe Maude flits away. William blinks at Kyle.

"What's up?" he asks. 

"I hate it," Kyle says. "Like really quite a lot."

"What?" William asks. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"The shower is glass," Kyle says. He gestures at it and the giant window that's positioned right across from it, the giant glass shower, "I don't understand? Why does the neighbourhood need to see me naked?"

"It's modern!" William says. "It's like - they'll steam up, probably. You can't not buy a house because of the shower!"

"The downstairs is weird too," Kyle says. "It's too open and white and light. I feel like I'm in a hospital."

"It's calming! It has a soothing presence!"

"I hate it." 

"I just feel like maybe you aren't giving this place your best and most positive foot forward," William says. "It's a nice place. We haven't even seen the rooftop patio yet." 

"This is Toronto," Kyle says, "the rooftop patio is going to be covered in snow for eight months and then too hot to step on for the remaining four. I'm going to spend half my life sweeping leaves off of it."

"There is so much negativity in this space right now," William says. "I watched an interview of you once and you said you were a positive person. Where is that positive person? Where did he go? Who is this storm cloud?"

"You - what?" Kyle asks.

William's hand goes back around his arm. "Come on. Teri said the rooftop patio really sells the place."

**346 Dupont St**

"So," William says, "We didn't love it."

"No," Kyle says, "We didn't."

They're both looking at their phones, under an umbrella on the patio of this coffee place. William seems to be having a conversation with someone through selfies entirely while he sips at his tea. Kyle, who needs to drink five cups of coffee a day to feel human, is trying to read an article Keefe sent him. 

It's difficult. William's bare knee keeps hitting Kyle's bare knee under the table. 

"I think maybe we should make a list of the things we liked about a place and didn't like about a place," William says. He has one of those fanny packs strapped across his chest and he pulls a small notebook out of it. "So I know what you're looking for better."

"I need to not feel like I'm going to get murdered every night," Kyle says. He keeps reading the article. He has no idea what it is saying. "That bedroom didn't even have curtains for fuck's sake."

"Less…" William says slow as he writes it down, "Windows…"

"Not necessarily less," Kyle says. He can feel William's gaze on his face. "Just less like aggressive windows. I felt exposed."

"You're not being very helpful," William says, quietly, and then brighter: "So what did we like about it? What tickled us?"

Kyle looks out on Dupont, at the cars, and has a think. "Um. The floors?"

"Wood…floors…"

"And the neighbourhood," Kyle says, "It's quiet but close to stuff. That's nice."

"Walkable…area…" William says, "Likes…trees…"

"Hey," Kyle says and he puts his phone down, "You don't have to do this. Really."

"Make a list? It just seems practical."

"No, like spend your Saturday finding me a house," Kyle says. "You're young. Aren't young people supposed to be having fun on the weekend?"

William looks at his cup of tea on the table really pointedly and tells it, "I am having fun."

Oh. "Well - good."

With his eyes all wide and blue like that he could ask fucking anything of Kyle and he would do it, probably, because he's an idiot. "The next open house is at noon. Do you want to split a waffle?"

"Yes," Kyle says. "Obviously I want a waffle."

William smiles with his whole body, is the problem. Even when he's in line at the counter and his back is turned to Kyle, he can see him still smiling.

**169 Robert St**

"This is a cute neighbourhood!" William says.

They're walking down Robert Street together, waffle warm in their stomachs. It's nice. Kyle sticks his hands in his pockets so they don't get any funny ideas. 

"It's fine, yeah," Kyle says. 

William gives him a side eyed look. "What's wrong with the neighbourhood?"

"Nothing!" Kyle says. "It's just pretty close to the university, is all. Could get rowdy. With all the university kids."

"Kyle, the house we're going to see costs too much for any university kid," William says. "They all live in Scarborough. Or North York. Or Etobicoke or somewhere else awful."

"How much exactly does this house cost?" Kyle says. 

"Wowie, would you look at that bird!" William says pointing up ahead. "You don't always see such vibrant wildlife this deep in the city. I think this is a good sign."

Kyle asks himself, again, exactly how it is he got here. 

"Welcome!" says a woman on the porch when they arrive, "Here for the open house?"

She has a wild smile and empty eyes, laden down with layers of mascara. She looks exactly like this one lady Kyle's mom did book clubs with. 

"We sure are!" William grins.

"Wonderful," she says and she leans in closer to them. "We love having tenants of all races, genders, and -" her voice goes lower "-sexual orientations."

William grins bigger. His hand is in Kyle's the next second. "That's great! Isn't that great, babe?"

"Yep," Kyle says. William has rough, dry, warm hands. Kyle is going to need to jump off a building. "Sure is."

The house is - long. Long and skinny like a high school boy who smokes a lot of weed and has bad hair. It is also very -

"Modern," the real estate lady says, "Very modern. The entire house is worked off a palette of cool greys and subtle whites."

"Oooh, I love that," William says. He squeezes Kyle's hand, "Don't you, babe?"

Kyle gives him an extremely unimpressed look when the real estate lady goes to open the blinds over the sliding back door. William keeps smiling like it's his birthday. His fingertips keep running over the grooves of Kyle's knuckles. Everything is horrible.

But the house is not bad. Technically. Like, it's very modern and has big windows but Kyle doesn't hate the marble countertops. It has nice spot lights on the ceiling and a funky island that would be fun to have people around. Or a nice place to eat a bagel in the morning. 

"Here are the brochures," Real Estate Lady says and Kyle opens the booklet and -

"William," he says, very quietly, "This house is two point five million dollars."

"Hmm?" William says, in what cannot be considered an indoor voice. "Yeah. So?"

Kyle gives Real Estate Lady his nicest, most condescending smile and tugs on William's hand until they're a few feet away. He steps into William's personal space bubble and William's eyes glance all over his face. 

"It doesn't even have a living room," Kyle says, "You want me to spend two point five million dollars on a house that doesn't have a living room?"

"It has a living room," William says. He gestures with their held hands towards the backdoor. "It's right over there."

"A room is four walls," Kyle says, "That is a hallway. This whole floor is a hallway. This is the part of the hallway with the fridge and over there is a continuation of the hallway but with a couch. You want me to spend two point five million dollars on a hallway."

"Kyle," he says slowly, "this is how much things cost. We live in Toronto. Everything is expensive. Like, have you never gotten dinner south of Bloor? I don't know what you were expecting."

"I-" Kyle rubs his eyes under his glasses. "My books are never going to fit in here."

"Okay, fair," William says, looking around worriedly. "That is a genuine concern."

"Everything okay, folks?" Real Estate Lady says. She's fanning herself with extra brochures. 

"Sure is," William says because apparently it's their catchphrase. He puts his other hand on Kyle's stomach, over his Arkells t-shirt, and all of the nerves in Kyle's body freak out. "Someone's breakfast is not agreeing with him."

"Oh," Real Estate Lady says, pouting at Kyle like he's a sick dog. "Shame. Can I take you up to the master?"

"We would love that," William says. He pulls Kyle along. "Gotta see where all the _magic_ is going to happen, right, honey?"

**Spadina Streetcar**

"Okay," William says. They're back on the streetcar because Kyle lives there now. They're sitting near the end and Kyle definitely accidentally sat on a little packet of ketchup so now he's got ketchup pants. William is all business, his notepad out over his knee. "I know you didn't like the lack of living room or the glass bannisters around the staircase or -"

"Or the fucking shiny floor in the basement," Kyle says. He looks out at Spadina which isn't fucking moving. "Why did it need to be shiny? Who the fuck wants a shiny basement?"

"I am hearing your feedback," William says. "I am noting it down."

William has been spending far too much time with Zach Hyman and probably also with Kyle. He has half a mind to tell him so. 

"The sinks in the en suite also sucked," Kyle says. 

"But the bathroom did have a good marble backsplash," William says, looking at him and nodding as if that will make Kyle nod along. 

"Yeah that was nice," Kyle says. "I liked that."

William smiles at him, "I'll write that in the Good column."

Kyle peeks at the list. It does seem to be weighted to one side. Also William's wrote Good and Bad at the top of the pad and the O's in Good have smiley faces in them. 

"There's another open house tomorrow morning in Cabbagetown," William says, "and then one in Summerhill so maybe I should pick you up and we can drive there?"

"William you-"

"I don't have to do this, I know," William says. "It's at 9:30. The next one is at 11am. Do those times work?"

Kyle flicks open his calendar app and takes a look. "I have a Skype date with my grandmother at 1pm and dinner with the Shanahans at 6, so yes. It's fine."

"That's adorable," William says, smile all sweet and melting. 

"Stop," Kyle says and he's definitely not blushing. He looks out the window as they pass Dundas. "Where are you headed, anyways?"

"Going home," William says. He's doodling a little flower on the top corner of Kyle's Good and Bad House List. "Then I might hang out with Dermy. His parents have a pool in their backyard so that would be kind of fun."

"You live around here?" Kyle asks, instead of asking about Travis Dermott's parent's pool and, more specifically, William in Travis Dermott's parent's pool. Seems the safer option.

"Wellington and Spadina," William says.

"That's - so close to me," Kyle says. "How did I not know you lived two streets away from me?"

William shrugs, smiles. "You do now."

They both get off at Front, cross the street with a big group of families and tourists and college kids. Kyle finds himself hovering, finds William doing the same.

"Cool," William says apropos of nothing. "So. I'll text you tomorrow morning when I get to your place. Do you want me to pick you up some coffee?"

"No, no," Kyle says, "I have a coffee machine I almost know how to use."

William snort laughs. It's disgusting. Kyle looks at the traffic so he doesn't do something stupid like ask William to travel the world with him. "Okay, so I'll get you a coffee."

"Good."

"Good."

They look at each other for a minute. William is not wearing his glasses today which in some ways is a shame, because they look nice on his terrible face, but in other ways is also a shame, because he looks nice without them on his terrible face. 

"Well thanks," Kyle says. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes you too," William says. "Good night."

It is three o'clock in the afternoon. "Good night, William."

Kyle does not watch him walk away because that would be pathetic. Instead he pretends to be very busy on his phone until the light changes. 

**81 Navy Wharf Court (Again)**

Nothing's ever happened between them.

Kyle listens to a Gladwell podcast in his kitchenette while he reheats spaghetti sauce in a pot and thinks very deeply about how nothing has ever happened between them. 

Okay so there's been like weird glances and strangely long handshakes and meetings where they both looked out the window instead of looking anywhere near each other. But, formally, nothing has occurred between them. And won't ever. Shan't, ever. Because William is the kind of person who wears Gucci socks to an open house and Kyle's the kind of person who found an Ondaajte novel in his fridge last week. 

They don't make very much sense, is the thing, and this - whatever the fuck this is - this weekend, this excursion, is just an extension of William's eccentrics. He probably did the same thing with Auston, dragged him all around Toronto and pretended to be his beau and then, at the end of it all, flittered away to do something else with someone else.

Kyle sits down at the only free space on his couch and eats spaghetti sauce with a fork. He dips some bread into it, stares at the lake through his window for a minute. He thinks about holding William's hand at that one house.

"This is fine," he says, out loud, for all his books and piles of shit to hear, "Everything is fine."

**434 Sackville St**

William picks him up the next morning. He has on a backwards ball cap, glasses, and a t-shirt from a Beyonce concert.

"Morning," Kyle says, sliding into the passenger seat. 

"Good morning," William says. He hands Kyle a cup. "As promised."

The coffee is not from any place Kyle has ever heard of. It has a little paragraph on the side of the cup which claims it to be eco friendly and vegan and fair trade which is all well and good, but it also says it costs $6 which is insane.

He takes a sip. It tastes like turpentine. Kyle swallows. "God that's awful," he croaks out. 

"I guessed black," William says. 

"You guessed wrong," Kyle says. 

William laughs, puts his fancy Volvo in gear. 

"You can put anything on," William says as he turns onto Front. He points at his phone in one of the cup holders. "I don't mind."

"No, no, this is," Kyle trails off, listens to what's playing. "Is this The Arkells?"

William stares straight ahead out the window but Kyle sees pink on his cheeks. "You talk about them a lot. And tweet about them. And your shirt yesterday. And I've never really listened to them. So."

"They're great," Kyle says because yeah, so what, he does tweet about them a lot. "I'm a big fan."

"Yeah," William says, laughing, "I can tell."

William parallel parks into a space four houses down from where an open house sign graces the sidewalk. He turns to face Kyle as he shuts the engine off. 

"Okay," he says, "Let's establish our game plan."

"Okay," Kyle says. "I was just going to take a look at it."

"I don't have a great read on you when we're in there," William says. "Like, you're really quiet? So I feel like I need to talk? Do you want me to talk less?"

Kyle thinks about how many times he heard the word 'backsplash' yesterday. "Maybe a little bit, yeah."

"I will take that constructive criticism," William says, "and in return I would like you to know that being a big grump every time you see a white wall is not helpful. You can paint the walls, Kyle."

"I just feel like if I'm paying a three hundred thousand dollar down payment I shouldn't have to paint the walls," Kyle says. "There should be fucking rose petals down my walkway and the house should come with a masseuse." 

William looks at him for a second. "Okay. So I'll talk less and you'll have an open mind."

"Sure."

They meander over, William's sandals slapping against the pavement. It's pretty classic Cabbagetown, all red brick Victorian and a porch just big enough for two chairs. It's nice, though, reminds Kyle of his great aunt's farmhouse near Collingwood.

William, to his credit, does not say anything. He just watches Kyle with his gigantic eyeballs. 

"I like it," Kyle says. "It's got a homey feel."

"Omg yes," William says like it's bursting out of him. "Homey, that's the exact word I was thinking of. I love the windows it's like - it's almost like they're friendly?"

Kyle hides his smile as he follows William up the walkway and through the open door. 

It's beautiful. The walls are white but there's a warmth there, in the ornate staircase and the chandelier over the entrance. Kyle likes the fireplace and wood floors and the kitchen's smooth countertops. 

"What do you think?" Kyle asks, stepping up to the glass doors at the back to see the yard. 

William shrugs. 

"Nothing?" Kyle says. "You don't have any thoughts about the green tile backsplash?"

"It doesn't matter what I think about the green tile backsplash," William says. "It matters what you think about the green tile backsplash."

"And I care what you think, so," Kyle says and William's face scrunches up, red around the edges. 

"It's nice," he says. "I like this place. It feels open but not too open. It doesn't feel minimalist like the other places."

"I agree," Kyle says. 

"It's cozy."

"Yeah."

"There's a lot of space for your books," William says and he's got a cute smile when he says it.

It is a nice place. William slides his hands over the bannisters and checks out the windows in each bedroom. Kyle tries to imagine himself hosting dinner parties in the backyard.

"So we liked it," William says, after, when they're back in his car.

"We did like it," Kyle says. He takes a sip of his now cold turpentine coffee and makes a face.

"But we didn't love it," William says. He's looking very steadily at Kyle, really intense like he can be sometimes. 

"No," Kyle says. "There wasn't a spark."

William turns the engine over, checks over his shoulder to pull out. "We'll get you that spark, Kyle."

**1 Selby St**

"Not here though," William says. "This place will not give you your spark."

"There must have been fifty porcelain dolls in that basement," Kyle says. "Who the fuck doesn't put those away before having a public viewing of their home?"

"People who don't have any closet space," William says, "because their closets are already full of even more dolls."

**736 Huron St**

"Oh that's a cute swing-set in the backyard," William says to the couple that owns the house. "Do you guys have kids?"

The man, who has wild hair and yellow glasses, says, "Nope!"

"Did the previous owners leave it behind?" Kyle asks.

The woman, who has a bright smile and very short bangs, says, "Nope!"

William's eyes meet Kyle's, wide with terror.

**124 Park Rd**

"William," Kyle says, "there is a gate to this house."

"Yep," William says.

"There are stone lions on either side of this house."

"Sure are."

The house comes into view. It is the same size as the Scosh arena, probably, or maybe the city of Sault Ste. Marie. 

"William," Kyle says in his best General Manager of the Toronto Maple Leafs voice. "I don't know what illusions you have about my salary but-"

William giggles and parks the car next to a line of Porsches and Jags. "It's worth so much money, dude. I just thought it would be kind of fun to look at."

Kyle edges closer to the windshield to peer up at the monstrosity before them.

"Also after Matty signed his big contract he's been looking for an upgrade," William says. He brandishes his phone. "I'm gonna take pics for him."

"Jesus," Kyle says, laughing, opening the passenger door. 

"You have no one to blame but yourself," William says, knocking his hip into Kyle's lightly as they walk up the drive. 

**81 Navy Wharf Court (Again again)**

"There was a sterling silver bathtub," Kyle says.

"A whole room dedicated to zebra print furniture," William adds, "And the wine cellar! I've never seen so many wines."

"I don't think I could afford the gas just to fill the lawn mower," Kyle says. "Did you see that lawn? It was bigger than some small nations."

William laughs, a big belly one, and Kyle feels himself smile. They're idling around the corner from Kyle's building because Kyle doesn't really want to leave the car yet and William doesn't seem to want him to leave the car yet. 

"I would feel really lonely in that house," Kyle says, "Don't find me a house that big."

"I'd have to come over constantly," William says, "to make you feel less lonely."

Kyle looks away from his eyes, all earnest, and clears his throat. "I did like the pool though."

"You should go to Dermy's parent's place," William says. His fingers drum on the steering wheel. "They have inflatable donuts to float in."

The image of William floating around a pool in a donut somewhere in Etobicoke almost puts Kyle out of commission.

"Well," he says, "my grandma will be waiting. But thank you, for today."

"No worries," William says. He turns so he can really laser beam Kyle with those eyes of his. "I'll keep my ear to the ground and text you when I find another place, okay?"

"Okay."

"Have fun at Shanny's," he says.

**40 Bay St**

_what r u doing now?_

It's five o'clock on Wednesday night. Kyle rubs his eyes under his glasses and squints at the screen of his phone: _Theoretically I'm about to leave the office_.

_what r u actually doing_

_Probably going to stay an extra hour_ , Kyle looks at the spreadsheet in front of him and then down at all the papers around the spreadsheet, _or two_.

It takes William a minute to text back: _sit tight!!! b there s00n 8-)_

Kyle begins and deletes approximately eight different replies. He settles on a peace sign emoji because he's young and hip and then goes back to pretending to read his spreadsheets. 

Thirty four or so minutes later, Kyle finds himself in the front seat of his own car, William in the passenger, driving through the endless maze of underground parking at the Scosh.

"I feel like I spend my life in underground parking garages," Kyle says. William hums, busy looking at his phone which Kyle reluctantly allowed him to hook up to his AUX cord.

The intro to _Waterloo_ plays over the speakers. Kyle gives William a look. William grins.

"You played well," Kyle says and then, realizing the fucking zero context he provided for that statement, backtracks: "At the World Championship, this year, I mean. I never said."

William trills, says: "I didn't know you were watching."

"I watch a lot of hockey."

"I know that."

"So why wouldn't I be watching?" Kyle says. "I didn't see every game. I missed Germany versus Great Britain, for example."

"Did you watch all my games?" William asks, voice all steady. When Kyle looks over William's staring out the passenger window, fingers up against the glass making shapes. 

"Yeah," Kyle says. "You played well."

They fall quiet. ABBA continue on. 

"Where am I going?" asks Kyle when he sees the light at the end of the tunnel. 

"Forest Hill," William says. He reaches out to turn down the music and Kyle sees a black band around his wrist, sharp against the warm gold of his skin. He looks away as William continues, "Drive down University, I'll direct you when we get close."

"Cool," Kyle says, "cool, cool."

William switches the song to something softer, with guitars and light voices. He says, carefully, "It means a lot that you watched them."

Kyle could say a lot of things, then. He could tell William that he watched a lot of Russian and Finnish and American games too. He could tell him the truth, which is that hockey left a bitter taste in his mouth for awhile, after TD Gardens. He could say that even if it wasn't his job to keep an eye on games like that he still would, because he's loved watching William play since they both joined the Marlies, one million years ago. 

Instead he doesn't say anything at all, just lets the silence stretch between them. 

**1 Bryce Ave**

The real estate agent opens the door. He looks like a Tony or a Joey and he does not say otherwise because he's on his phone.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm working today and tomorrow," he says, gesturing with his other hand to let them in. "You know these houses, they sell themselves."

"Not a great sign," Kyle says, quietly, and William shushes him.

"I love this wood grain," William whispers so as not to bother Tony or Joey, pointing to the floor. "What do you think?"

"It's wood?" Kyle says looking down. His oxfords look ridiculous next to William's sneakers but that's not the point. "It's nice? It's fine."

"Kyle," William says, "please can we try and be optimistic."

"I love this floor," Kyle says. He did not promise to not be an asshole today. "It is so special."

"You're a dick," William says, but he's laughing, and Kyle maybe laughs too. 

The house is halfway done and looks a bit Frankenstein because of it. The parlour is all wood walls and gorgeous detailing but the kitchen looks straight out of the seventies. William eyes the kitchen cupboard doors with a frown.

"Try to be optimistic, William," Kyle says.

"This looks like the house from _That 70s Show_ ," William says. 

"That get a lot of airplay in Sweden?" Kyle asks because he'd rather talk about William's life and television than about the house they're standing in. Like, Kyle would rather just be sitting somewhere and eating some pasta with William than look at this terrible house anymore.

"They used to play reruns on weekend mornings when we lived in Washington," William says and fuck that, never mind, Kyle would rather slam his head into a wall.

"You're so young," he says, leaving the room. "I'm so old."

William's laugh follows him and then William himself appears at his elbow. Kyle can't stop grinning. 

From the front hall, the real estate agent says to his phone: "Nah, nah, babe, we had KFC yesterday."

The basement is the stuff of nightmares, all open boards and boxes of Christmas decorations and broken sports equipment. The master bedroom is carpeted and terrible, just more generally. 

"How much is this house?" Kyle asks William, while they're looking at the backyard. 

"Like, so much," William says. "Like four million before taxes."

"Fuck me," Kyle says. 

They run into Joey or Tony on their way out. He's standing near the door, staring at his phone, but looks up when he sees them. 

"Oh shit," he says, "You're totally William Nylander."

William blinks twice and says, "Yes I am."

He signs a piece of paper, and then another, and then gets Kyle to take a picture of the two of them. 

"So," Tony or Joey says, after William's signed everything he could find and smiled quite a lot, "You looking to put in an offer?"

"Um," William says. "No. Sorry."

**334 Russell Hill Rd**

"My wife was just offered a position at a research facility in San Francisco," Taner says as he takes them through the kitchen, "And that's why we're selling the place."

"It's beautiful," William says, gliding his hand across the countertops. 

"It is," Kyle says. 

Taner shows them the breakfast nook, surrounded on all sides by windows which show out to the backyard. He rests his hand on one pane of glass and looks through it, brown eyes narrowing against the growing dusk. "Upper Canada and Bishop Strachan are just up the street, which is where our girls went. Great schools." He turns to them: "Do you two have kids?"

"No," Kyle says.

"Not yet," is what William helpfully adds. 

"There's a lot of parkland in this area," Taner says. "We loved taking the girls on weekend afternoons, when they were growing up."

Kyle does not need to look over at William to know his eyes are the size of tea saucers listening to Taner's nostalgia. Instead he tries to imagine himself here, tries to imagine the family photo over the mantle as one of he and his family. 

"Your daughters are out of the house?" Kyle asks, checking out the stain-glass detailing over the kitchen sink window. 

"Ferah just moved to Halifax to begin her postgrad," Taner says, proud smile on his face. 

Taner stays on the main floor while William leads Kyle around the second storey. There's a nook on this floor as well, cozy and sunny, with a door leading out to a terrace. William pulls him out onto it, leans back against the railing and raises his eyebrows.

"So?" he says, "Do you love it?"

"It's beautiful," Kyle says. "It's charming."

"That's not answering my question," William says.

Kyle looks at the backyard. When this whole scavenger hunt began Kyle had been thinking of finding a house to put his books and his movies and his CDs and his knick knacks in. And it hits him, now, with Taner and his proud smile, that he is also looking for a place for his future kids' to put their books and movies and CDs and knick knacks.

"You don't like it?" William asks. He's looking at Kyle like he doesn't plan on looking away.

"Their rooms are still set up," Kyle asks, "Like he's waiting for them to come back any day."

Kyle often says things that the people around him don't quite understand.

"Oh," William says. "Yeah, I want kids too."

They look at the garden together a bit more. Kyle is unfortunately reminded of William's knack for saying things that are a bit too honest for the moment, and William's generally likeable smell, and of that one time William and Kyle were the only people left at the table of a fancy restaurant in Switzerland and William's cheeks were red from the wine and Kyle, quite desperately, felt some things.

"I don't think I could make this place a home," Kyle says. He feels strangely cold, for all that Toronto is sticky heat. The thought of eating cereal, alone, in that kitchen makes his skin crawl. "Not yet, anyway."

William nods. They look out, quiet, listen to the humidity and the wind and planes flying overhead.

"I wonder what kind of flowers those are," William says, a little while later. He's pointing at a group of purple blossoms on the edge of the tree line.

"My mum would know," Kyle says, which isn't very helpful.

"Are you ready to go back inside?" William asks. His skin is so clear and his eyes are so light and his face isn't being cute or flirty or silly for once. He's just looking at Kyle, like he would stay out all night if that's what Kyle wanted. 

Kyle nods. He pulls open the door, holds it for William to go through first before giving one last look himself. 

**436 Wellington St**

"We could order a pizza," William says, in the car, after, "Go back to my place."

This is an extremely bad idea. Kyle knows it's a bad idea. William knows it's a bad idea. Kyle isn't going to ask anyone else their opinion but if he did, they would probably say, as well, that it's a bad idea.

"Okay," Kyle says.

"Okay," William says, smiling.

William's apartment is in a row of buildings that used to be factories and have been gentrified into upscale apartments. He directs Kyle to a little parking lot and then pulls him into a red stone building and onto a silver elevator.

"What do you like on your pizza?" William asks, already looking at his phone. He's scrolling through Uber Eats at one of the fancy Italian joints on College. "Please don't tell me you like gross pizzas."

"What's a gross pizza?"

The elevator arrives on the top floor and William says, "I don't know, like olives or something."

Kyle shrugs, "I'm mostly fine with anything."

He follows William down a hallway with exposed brick. William slides his keys out of the pocket of his jeans and says, "You have to have an opinion about pizza. It's required. You're a human, aren't you?"

"It's not that I don't have a preference," Kyle says, "It's just - oh wow."

William's apartment is, in a word, fucking stunning. 

It's floor-to-ceiling windows and exposed brick, silver pipes running along the ceiling. His kitchen has washed out cupboards and grey marble counters and -holy shit. Kyle can't stop craning his head. 

"Can I live here?" Kyle asks. William's face goes red, eyes dropping to the floor. "That view is incredible."

"Thanks," William says. He dumps his keys on the kitchen island and says, "Want to see the loft?"

Kyle does. But then Kyle follows William up the stairs and sees where William has not made his bed and Kyle's heart makes a loud thump noise in his chest, like it's dropped into his stomach. William has a white duvet and fourteen different pillows. William has a bedside table with nothing but a phone charger and a photo of his family on it. Kyle wishes he did not see this. 

"Isn't the architecture cool?" William asks, pointing at something that isn't his bed. Kyle stares really hard at where he's pointing and pretends to be listening. "I just fell in love with it immediately. Couldn't stop myself."

"It's gorgeous," Kyle says and William looks pleased, warm around his ears. 

They order, two extra large vegetarian pizzas because William says he could eat an entire one by himself and Kyle, who has sat near William at continental breakfasts on the road before, does not doubt him. It's still light out so they venture to one of William's outdoor patios, off his bedroom, where they can watch the sunset light up the buildings of the Toronto skyline. 

Kyle grabs two slices and sighs as he sits onto the wicker couch. William sits himself down next to Kyle, close enough that their knees are touching, their shoes, a bit, and the heat of William's arm makes the hair on Kyle's stand straight up.

"I fucking love pizza," Kyle says, mouth full, and William laughs. 

"Have you ever been to Stockholm before?" William asks and Kyle shakes his head. "There's a pizza place along the waterside that Alex and I always go to when we get home for the summer. They have an artichoke pizza that like - it's the best thing I've ever had. You have to get it some time."

"I have to go to Stockholm," Kyle says, "to get a really good pizza you like."

William laughs some more, "Yes! Absolutely you do."

"Not for the rich history or the culture, but to get some pizza."

"I'll show you around," William says and he looks dangerous, then, with his smile white and his skin golden from the Toronto sunset. "I'll take you to the museum, I bet you love museums."

Kyle rolls his eyes but yeah. So sue him, he fucking loves museums. "You know speaking of, there's an exhibit on Rembrandt at the ROM," he says, "I was actually going to go next week."

"Oh god."

"You shouldn't have mentioned museums if you didn't want me to talk about museums," Kyle says. He can feel himself smiling, can feel William looking at his funny front tooth. He can feel himself edging closer to him, their thighs touching now. 

"You'll have to take me," William says, grinning, eyes flickering between Kyle's smile and his eyes. "Read all the posters to me so I learn something."

"When you get back from Sweden, it'll probably be over," Kyle says. "They'll be something else I can bore you with."

He must have said something wrong because William looks away, out at the skyline. His face smooths out, his smile fades around the edges. He takes another bite of his pizza and Kyle looks away too. 

"So," William says, after a little bit. "Do you think Kawhi will sign?"

It's a cop-out and relief filters through Kyle's body. "God, I hope so. Fuck, did you see Game 7?"

"Of course. Legend."

"Legend," Kyle says. He uses his knuckles to push his glasses up his nose and continues, "I don't know how someone could win in this city and want to leave it."

William's looking at him like he sees right through him, like he sees the nerdy kid who grew up in Sault Ste Marie with a bad haircut, the kid who grew into Kyle, one-milk-one-sugar Kyle who swears more than his mom would want and believes in magic, still, a little bit. 

They stay outside until the sky goes purple and William's curled up with his toes under Kyle's thigh. 

**81 Navy Wharf Court (Again again again)**

It's four a.m, is the thing, when William calls him on Friday morning.

"I found it," he says.

"Who is this," Kyle says, ninety percent asleep. His head is mostly under the pillow, his room is dark, and white spots burst behind his eyelids every time he shuts them. "What did you find?"

"Your dream home," William says, "I finally found it."

"Is my dream home not accessible after seven am?" Kyle asks, "Can it only be discussed under cover of darkness?"

"Stop being a jerk," William says, "you're going to love it."

"Will," Kyle says, "Sleep now."

"Okay grumpy pants," he says, "I'll text you the address."

**133 Madison Ave**

The rain comes down in sheets outside Kyle's car windows. It's storm grey outside as he steps out, shaking open an umbrella. He minds the puddles on the street and takes off down Madison toward the house. 

William's standing just under the porch. He doesn't have an umbrella, just his anorak and jeans rolled up past his ankles and chelsea boots. He watches Kyle walk up the drive with a small smile on his face. 

Kyle stops a step below him, looks up and says, "Hi." It feels like too big a word. 

"Hi," William says. There's a drop of water on his freckled nose. "You made it."

"Well," Kyle says. He moves up the steps and edges around Willy so he can get under the porch. He collapses his umbrella. "Some goofy guy called me at four a.m to tell me that this is the house of my dreams, so. Couldn't miss it."

The garden in front of the house looks lush and green in the rain, overgrown vines and shrubs like a proper garden should be. Kyle breathes in, lets the dampness settle in his lungs, before he turns to William and raises an eyebrow.

"Dream home?" he asks.

William smiles, small and mostly with his eyes. "Yeah," he says, "this is the one, I promise."

Kyle doesn't believe in fate. He believes in hard work and drive, believes good things come to those who say fuck waiting and make things happen on their own terms. 

But this, leaning his umbrella up against a redbrick Victorian and following William over the threshold, feels destined, somehow.

The first thing Kyle sees is the stairwell; the first thing he hears is the sound of rain against the stain glass windows that rise with the stairs on their way up.

"Oh," Kyle says.

William's fingers slide between his own. 

"Come on," William says, "I'll give you the tour."

He follows. William takes him to the wood stove fireplace in the living room. He takes him to the empty room off the right side of the hallway, the one with the bright light fixture and the green walls. 

"Your office," William says, "I was thinking that you could put your desk by the window, there, and then have a spot here for a couch. In case you ever want to have meetings here, you know?"

"Yeah," Kyle says. "Yeah, it's perfect."

William brings Kyle to the kitchen and it's black and white tiled floor. He shows him the garden through the backdoor, points out the honeysuckle and the mean old rose bushes that bloom along the fence and the cherry trees draped as if in white gossamer .

"The woman who lives here told me they bloom in late June," William says. His voice is just louder than the rain. "And that you'll pick enough to make a pie for everyone you've ever met."

Next, William takes him upstairs. He shows Kyle the dark blue bedroom and the bathroom across the hall. The rooms are small with odd corners. The master barely has any closet space and the bathroom is old fashion. Classic. Kyle loves them.

There's a third floor and the ceiling is on a slant here, windows like skylights along the narrow passageway. The people who lived here have cleared this room out except for two chairs and a table between them, grey by the light of the rain through the window. 

"I thought you could put your books up here," William says. His fingers are still near Kyle's, their pinkies hooked around each other like they've forgotten how to let go. "And you could sit and drink your coffee here in the morning."

Kyle stays quiet. He lets William show him the rest of the floor: another kitchen, smaller than the one downstairs, and a room, empty but for a few chairs and a box. William pulls him back down the stairs, shows him the basement which is its own little apartment, brightly coloured walls and bedrooms bursting with personality.

"You could rent it out," William says, "so you wouldn't be in a big house all by yourself. And you'd have someone to water your houseplants and set the recycling out for collection, when you're away on road trips."

Then he takes him back up, to the room that overlooks the backyard from above. The ceilings are high, marred only by a black metal loft that drips with green ivy and African violets. A propane stove coils in the corner and bright light floods through every corner, even as the windows are pelted with rain. 

"The owner, Lillian, said she used to have a hammock up here," William says. "And she'd watch the snow coming in, in December, and the rain, like today. I don't know I just - it's just a really cool space. It reminded me of you, I guess."

"I love it," Kyle says. "It's perfect."

William squeezes his fingers. "I knew you would. I knew it."

Kyle lets their eyes meet. "I want to put an offer in."

"Okay," William says. "I'll call Lillian."

Outside, it's still raining. 

"Dang," William says, "I was hoping it would have stopped while we were inside."

Kyle wants to say something about how it's apt, the rain. Instead he finds his umbrella where he left it. He opens it up over he and William and leads them down the porch steps. The porch of his new house. Where he's going to live, soon, once he finishes signing the one million papers he's been given and calls his mom and also his lawyer.

"I can't believe how absolutely spot on you were," Kyle says. He wants to say more. He wants to say that he feels known in a way that's only ever felt scary before this moment.

He doesn't have to though because William says, "I know you better than you know yourself, Kyle Dubas," and smiles. 

They stop in between their cars on the sidewalk. The street is empty and the rain is coming down hard, splashing the bottom of Kyle's jeans and turning the rolled cuffs of Willy's dark blue. 

"I just looked at those lists I kept making," William says. He's staring at Kyle's hand around the umbrella handle. "And I realized you just wanted a house that has its own personality, kind of. You don't want to give it character, you just want to be apart of the story."

Kyle swallows. Nothing's ever happened between them but when William looks up Kyle wonders how that is. 

"I guess you'll be going back home soon," Kyle says because the idea of saying anything else, anything real, is unfathomable. 

"Well," William says, grin sharp across his face, "if we stay out too long in the rain we'll get sick, so."

"I meant Stockholm."

William's face falls. He looks away.

"Will?" 

"I-" William starts. He bites his lip and looks back up at Kyle. There's a raindrop on his eyelash. "I was supposed to go back last week."

"Why didn't you?" Kyle asks.

"Well I-" William starts, stops, then says, quiet: "I bumped into you and I cancelled my flight."

Nothing's ever happened between them. Kyle asks, "Why did you cancel your flight?"

"Because you're smart," William says, "and kind and you make me laugh. You make me want to learn new things and I thought - I thought maybe if I could help you find a place, you would let me hang around."

It starts raining harder. Kyle moves closer, says, "And why did you want to hang around?"

William says, "You know why."

"Will," Kyle says. He has to hear it. "Why did you want to hang around with me?"

"I've had a crush on you since I first moved here," William says. He isn't looking at Kyle's eyes anymore, is staring at Kyle's throat, at his sweater. "I just - I like you. A lot."

Kyle feels himself move before he's really aware of it. His right hand is still holding the umbrella so his left goes to William's cheek. It's cold, from the rain, and damp and soft. William's eyes lift to meet his own.

"I'm going to kiss you," Kyle says. "If that's okay."

William's hands are cold on Kyle's neck. His nose is cold against Kyle's nose when Kyle moves closer, left hand angling William's chin up. His lips are cold on Kyle's lips but his mouth is warm. William makes the softest noises when Kyle kisses the side of his mouth, the bow of his top lip, the pout of his bottom, his cheek, the tip of his nose, his chin, and his mouth again. 

"I like you a lot too," Kyle says when he pulls away. William's eyes are still closed and he waits until they're open before he continues, "In case that wasn't clear."

William kisses him harder, properly, and Kyle's hand falls from his cheek and runs down the slick of his jacket instead. His hand finds the curve of William's waist and settles there, pulls him closer as the rain comes down around them. 

"You'll never get rid of me now," William whispers harsh against Kyle's cheek as he pulls away. His left hand is over Kyle's heart, fingers spread out against the wool of his sweater. "I'll never leave you alone."

Kyle looks over William's shoulder at the house that almost belongs to him. He looks at the porch and imagines the two of them there, on a day like today, sitting together to watch the rain come down. 

"I think I can live with that," Kyle says before pulling William in again.

**Author's Note:**

> also all of these houses are real listings that you can look at. i spent 90% of writing this fic not-writing because i was just looking at real estate websites.
> 
> i can be found [here](https://butternutstyles.tumblr.com/).
> 
> edit: rip kawhi


End file.
